


I Want You to Believe

by mementomoriarty



Series: Space Revolutionaries [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, I'm not sure how to tag this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:52:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mementomoriarty/pseuds/mementomoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>R remembers the day they met. </p>
<p>"We're going to change the world."</p>
<p>R might as well have laughed in his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You to Believe

R remembers the day they met. Little kids in grown up clothes, really, wanting to start wars they couldn't win. Little kids pretending they could mean something, pretending they could change. R remembers. 

Well, it wasn't 'the day they met' that R remembered so much as 'the first time E saved his life (possibly while simultaneously dooming it)'. But he doesn't like to argue semantics. 

Who is he kidding. He loves arguing semantics. But that's beside the point. 

 

There's a reason R is a bitter, cynical drunk. He's seen the worst of human nature (and other natures as well), and then some. Even if he doesn't necessarily believe in any deity, if one exists in control of his fate, R would like to know what he did to get the short end of the stick, because nothing in particular in his life has ever gone well, and nothing ever goes as planned, does it?

At the time he first met E (or whatever you want to call it), he was barely an adult, and already used to having a weapon in his hands and a bottle to his lips. He had to be, it was the only way to survive in the 'abandoned' cities of Earth. Not that they were truly abandoned, nothing ever is, but all that was left was the shell of the city and the scum of the street. R gladly embraced the title 'scum of street,' but Old Earth Paris was the last place he'd have expected to see someone like E, someone who practically smelled of good upbringing and money and looked at the way R lived with disgust, and yet. 

And yet, that was where E saved him. 

He'd been accosted by a City patrol, he can't remember why, exactly, but in Paris they didn't bother sending him on a prison transport, they didn't have to report it, they got more out of it when they send him to the rings anyway. 

It wasn't the first time he'd been thrown in the fighting rings, after all. He'd survived more than one fight, he didn't need saving, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Well, he might have known what he was doing. Maybe. Kind of. Probably not. 

This time it was an old theater, but the stage was gone. It might have been nice one day long ago, an opera house maybe, but R was under the impression it probably housed a burlesque show. Not that it mattered at the time, when he was in over his head, drunk out of his mind, and thrown into the fighting rings. 

They expected him to lose. 

Well, if R's telling the story, he threw a few good punches (which is true), took a few out (which is not true), didn't need saving (also not true), was too drunk to see straight (which is always true), but still managed to win (which is so 'not true' it hurts). If E's telling the story, R lost. And he lost badly. 

There comes a point when humanity goes from civilized to savage, when they build fighting rings, when they like to watch the losers beaten to death. When they like to string up the weaker opponent and make them bleed just because they can. 

And so it came that R, already bruised and bloody from the fight, had his shirt wrestled from his body and his wrists tied above his head. They yanked the rope, laughing when he winced and strained to breathe, his ribs broken and his shoulders out of socket. He doesn't remember anything but a whirlwind of pain and wishing he had another drink and the laughter of the men who hurt him happily. 

The first lash of the whip struck his back, ripping away flesh as easily as tearing paper, tearing a scream from his lips and causing his world to go white. 

"Again!" Someone shouted mercilessly, and he would not sob, he would not, he would not give them that satisfaction.

And again. He felt the blood dripping down his back and soaking his trousers, he felt every wound he'd suffered in the fight tenfold, he felt pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.

And again. He wished it would end.

And again. He wondered if it would ever end. He'd lost count of how many lashes he'd received.

And again. Someone was screaming, sobbing, crying hysterically. He wondered who it was that sounded so broken. He realized with a jolt that it was his own voice. 

And "Stop." 

Silence.

Blood. 

Pain.

"He's had enough. Let him be."

Someone cut the ropes and R slumped to his knees and the earth tipped sideways and he had no choice but to follow and he fell to one side, and his bones ached, and black fuzzed at the edge of his vision and then there was an angel standing in front of him. 

"Are you okay?" The angel asked, and the angel's brow crinkled when R merely gaped at him and R briefly wondered what a beautiful blond angel was doing in Old Earth Paris. The angel snapped his fingers in front of R's face. "Stay awake."

The angel's tone was rock hard and he must've been a very important angel, because he seemed used to giving orders, and R wanted to obey, he really did. 

"Yeah, right." He said, and passed out. 

 

When R woke, he didn't know where he was. He panicked, bolting upright, and rolling out of the cot (It was a cot, right? Who had cots? He rarely slept in cots.) and immediately his vision swam, though not in the oddly pleasant way that came from too much alcohol. 

"I'd sit down if I were you." R whirled on the voice he didn't recognize, and immediately felt dizzy for it. Gentle hands pushed him back onto the cot, and he really didn't have much of a choice, so he let the stranger guide him back. "You lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah, that tends to happen when someone tries to flog you senseless." R said dryly, and once he could see straight again, he took a moment to study the stranger. He looked at R with a bemused smile, but something similar to disgust was in his eyes. Despite himself, R wondered when he had last managed to clean up. He couldn't remember. 

"They didn't just try, you know." The stranger replied smoothly. "They succeeded in beating you senseless. You've been out for some time."

R realized with a start that he was staring, and wow, he really should have a little dignity, honestly. "Where am I?"

"La Rouge, heard of it?"

R shook his head. 

"It was a cafe. Some time ago. You might know it better by it's street name. The Musain." He said it slowly, carefully, anticipating the reaction.

"Oh my god." R said, bolting upright again, only to be rewarded with a lightheaded feeling. "You're - "

"An Insurgent, yes." He said it a little impatiently, as he pushed R back down to the cot. "Don't get up again." 

"I didn't know you existed."

A smile played on the stranger's lips and R wondered if he'd been given pain medication, because he was struck by how ridiculously beautiful the stranger was. It was annoying, really, how difficult it was to concentrate on his words when R was busy studying his looks. "We haven't a large number," the stranger was saying. "Not yet, at least. That's all going to change very soon. Very soon indeed."

The stranger had taken to pacing, and R couldn't help but watch, awestruck, as he practically bounced as he spoke, waving his arms in grand gestures as his words quickly sped up and soon matched the passion in his eyes. "We're going to change the world."

R might as well have laughed in his face. 

"Is that funny to you?" The stranger snapped, obviously annoyed. "I saved your life, thank you, and if you're going to mock my ideals, I suggest you go right back to where I found you. In fact, I'll lead you there, and personally make sure they let you bleed out."

That shut him up quick. 

"Thank you." The other huffed and dropped onto a cot across from R's. R was stunned silent by the smooth transition from idealist Insurgent to someone very terrifying. "Mind explaining to me what you found so hilarious?"

The thought of not answering never crossed R's mind. "You know the City's control spans whole galaxies, right? You know how literally impossible it is to do anything about it? I've heard of you, sure, but mostly it's just hopeful stories of wistful little street urchins. They'd be a lot better off if you didn't make them think that one day they'll be better. It's a whole lot easier just to accept the lot you're given."

"It's people who accept the lot they're given that allow the government to oppress them."

"I'll have you know I am very happily oppressed, thank you."

The stranger's eyebrows rose, and his gaze flicked to the bandages wrapped around R's middle. (How did those get there, anyway?) "Oh?"

"Well. I don't live with my head in the clouds."

"Are you saying I do?"

"I'm saying you're a dreamer."

"And you're a cynic. You don't believe in anything, do you?"

"Nothing's for certain. What's the point in believing in anything except that one day we will all die?"

"The point is, we can do something about it. We can change. One day those street urchins will have a better life, I swear it. Already we've been - "

"You've been what? Shutting down a few illegal fighting rings and doing the government's job? That's what you were doing when I was there, wasn't it? I'll have you know it was a City officer who put me there. You're not changing anything."

The stranger was silent for a long moment. He stood. "Whenever you stand without feeling like you'll fall over, you're free to leave if you wish. A 'dreamer' has no need for you, not here."

"Wait." R said, and the stranger stopped in his tracks. "Can't I even catch your name?"

He gave R a look which obviously said 'yeah, right.' "Can I have yours?" He countered, and R didn't respond. "That's what I thought."

"Look, I don't know where you're from," R began. "But where I'm from, someone saves your life, and you pay back the favor. You saved mine. What can I do for that?"

The stranger considered. "You want to be useful somehow, because I've saved your life?"

"Yes."

"I want you to believe in what I do. That's my favor."

"You realize that doesn't make any sense, right?"

"Then I guess you're sticking around until I can convince you to believe. It's the least you can do, since I saved your life, after all." The stranger smirked, and R practically bristled. 

"Fine. I believe. You can change the universe, yada yada. Even?"

The stranger looked at him steadily. "But you don't really." 

"No. I don't." R shook his head, and the stranger turned around again, with another promise that R would believe if he stuck around long enough. "Wait," R finally called out, and he wasn't sure why, but he just wanted the stranger to stay, if only a moment longer. "Wait. I - I'm R."

"R?" The stranger looked disbelieving, eventually he sighed. "Nice to meet you, R. I'm E."

**Author's Note:**

> More Space Revolutionaries! Hope you enjoyed~


End file.
